


Love Thy Self as You Do Unto Others

by sorrens



Series: Love Thy Self as You Do Unto Others [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Gen, I'll add more tags as the vignettes progress, No Betas We Fall Like Crowley, Perfectionism, Post-Apocalypse, Self-Esteem Issues, University, basically reader insert, but for now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 05:48:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20092276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorrens/pseuds/sorrens
Summary: Aziraphale encounters a frantic university student with an incredibly harsh opinion of herself.





	Love Thy Self as You Do Unto Others

**Author's Note:**

> This series was borne out of responses to my other fics which referenced various disordered behaviours. My heart absolutely broke to hear how many people are struggling and I think that Good Omens can be a sort of light-hearted outlet in a way. So I thought I’d write a set of stories centred around various disorders/issues that may resonate with the reader (and because the ineffable partners are inarguably canon of course I will be referencing their relationship excessively) 
> 
> [Probably more relevant to later pieces but] the tone of the writing does not belie the relative seriousness of the issue and I may smatter in some humour, this is just my writing style, and believe me, I’m writing from a place of experience. I just felt like going for a variety of voices and I hope the messages of each still resonate.
> 
> Later pieces will probably focus on EDs/Dysmorphia/Dysphoria/Autism/OCD/Trauma/Self Harming behaviours etc. all will be appropriately labelled with TWs if relevant.

It was usually Aziraphale with the anxious energy whenever a customer set foot in his store. One sweltering June day, however, a young woman crossed the threshold in such a state of panic that the angel feared something had transpired on the street outside.

Her wide-eyed, flushed face rivalled the colour of her maroon jumpsuit. She clung desperately to her laptop. A large bulky back pack hanging off her shoulder.

Before Aziraphale could even speak, there was a flood of words. Punctuated by fear rather than actual punctuation, which was hardly effective for communication:

_“Doyouhaveanybooksaboutoptokineticnystagmus? Ineedfourmorereferencesbutonehastobefromaninternationaljournal.”_

The angel blinked. His brain slowly teased out the jumble of words in to individual syllables until he had a vague idea of what was being asked of him.

“You want a book—“ the girl nodded fervently. “On…” he wasn’t quite sure of the next bit.

“Optokinetic nystagmus.”

Yes, Aziraphale believed that _was_ English she was speaking.

“Eyes, eye movements.” _Oh okay._

“Quite a specialised topic there.” The angel trawled through his small science collection. “I can’t say I have.”

The girl made a pained noise, and now seemed of the brink of tears. If Aziraphale knew where to get that kind of book from, he would have miracled it instantly so that he didn’t have a distressed undergrad melting in a puddle in his store. Also, he was an angel of love, and anxiety tended to ruffle his feathers. It was the whole empathy thing. He couldn’t quite stand in the same room as the girl and not be persuaded to feeling at least, if not more, anxious than her. His heart rate quickened and he mentally told his corperation to get-itself-together, lest they were both running around like headless chickens. Fat lot of good that would do.

“Did you want to take a seat?” The girl hesitated before collapsing in an armchair. Her backpack made a sound reminiscent of an anvil dropped from a great height as it hit the ground.

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.” She seemed to change her mind, attempting (and failing) to haul her bag off of its final resting place on the carpet.

“That’s no problem, dear.” Aziraphale responded in kind. “May I ask what’s going on that’s got you so stressed?”

And with that simple question, the dam broke. Luckily this flood had differentiable word boundaries.

“It started because I have a psychology paper due and it made up most of my grade but then I got writer’s block and I couldn’t manage my time so I started panicking and because I spent so much time on that paper I didn’t do my optometry paper until, well, now but it’s due at midnight and I’m only just realising that I haven’t done enough research. I don’t know what I’m talking about,” She looked up at the angel desperately. “I can’t do this. I’m so annoyed at myself. I’ve been doing this for 3 semesters now, I should be able to do this.”

Aziraphale sat down.

“My name’s Maria, by the way, sorry I’m a bit all over the place at the moment.”

“Hi Maria, I’m Mr Fell.”

There was a pause. Another small trickle of self judgement spilled out into the open.

“I’ve just been so _lazy_ this semester. I deserve to fail my essay.”

That was a lot to unpack, thought Aziraphale, but rather than jumping straight in, he stood up and offered to make the girl some tea.

“I don’t think I even have time to breathe at this point.” She was jittery, and frantic, as though desperately trying to cling on to something that could calm her down. That something, it seemed to Aziraphale, was the right book. Aziraphale had been in the business of books for quite a while and, although reluctant to actually share his collection, he still had the innate knack for knowing exactly what a customer needed. Maria thought she needed a book, probably a magic book (oh he had a few of those) that contained the sum total of knowledge in the field of optometry. She would also need some time to read that book, time that she didn’t have, and then the presence of mind to write an essay under the near-impossible time pressures she now faced.

“I think you need a cup of tea.” Aziraphale made a slight attempt to soak up some of the anxiety that was radiating from the girl, hoping she would remain where she was whilst he went about making tea.

* * *

When he returned, she looked surprisingly calmer (he was, unsurprisingly, less calm but was glad to have shifted some of the burden). As he handed over the cup, he thought carefully about what he would say first. There was one word that Maria used that made his jaw clench, that seemed like a place to start.

“Why **should** you be able to do this?”

Maria sighed. “Writing an essay — it’s such a basic thing and then I sit in front of my computer and… nothing. I can spend hours staring at the screen. How on earth did I even get in to university if I can’t string two words together?”

“You are now, my dear.”

“Yeah but this is different. I don’t have—“

“—The crushing self-imposed expectations you have in relation to your academic performance?”

Maria stilled and eyed the angel warily.

“That sounds like something my therapist would say.”

“Well, is it true?”

“I’m lazy. I could’ve started preparing earlier.” She said in lieu of an answer.

“Why didn’t you start earlier?”

“Well, because I had biology and then I worked a double over the weekend and I was so tired I slept through my Monday classes and had to catch up—“

“Sounds like you’re pretty busy.”

“Look, I spent most of Monday asleep which was pretty silly of me considering how much I needed to do. I brought this on myself.”

“You said you were tired.” Said Aziraphale gently. “You needed rest.”

This notion seemed to make Maria more frustrated.

“No, I rest when my work is done.”

On the surface, it felt like arguing with a young child about nap time but Aziraphale bit back a spiel about how the human body needs rest because there was something deeper.

He changed tact.

“Do you know your classmates in Optometry? How are they going with the essay?”

“There’s Lila, she’s written a bit, but she’s been having a really difficult time at the moment. I hope she’ll ask for an extension.”

“How come?”

“Her mum’s been sick so she has to travel home to Swindon to take care of her younger brother every other day. I don’t know how she juggles it.”

“I don’t know how you expect yourself to juggle it. You’re working long hours. You’re under so much pressure. You’re so hard on yourself. This writer’s block, it’s a defence mechanism. It’s the fear of failing, of underperforming, of not being worthy of your place at university.”

“What if I’m not? Not worthy?” Marie bit back, tears sparkling in the corner of her eyes. Aziraphale made a pained expression that was enough of an answer itself and Marie had to wonder how this random shopkeeper could impart the unwavering believe in her own worthiness in a simple look.

“Do you think that, maybe, your anxiety has made this process more difficult than it had to be?”

“Well, yeah, but I should—“ she stopped mid sentence at the look on Aziraphale’s face: one eyebrow raised as the should reappeared.

“I should be able to control it.” She finished in a half-whisper.

“That’s a special rule, just for yourself, right?” He lowered his voice slightly. “If anyone else was having a stressful week, would you call them lazy?”

A transient look of horror crossed Maria’s face.

“I’d never suggest… _oh_. You’re right.”

Aziraphale nodded. “I am quite, aren’t I?” He shifted the now empty cups across to the coffee table and turned to find Maria staring off in to the distance with a somewhat puzzled expression on her face.

“I guess it’s not the end of the world.”

(The angel smirked but Maria didn't see.)

“If I take an extra day and get a 10% penalty.” Nothing, bar the apocalypse itself, would see her consider taking an extra day to turn in her essay. In her mind, a million little objections bubbled to the surface. Voices that screamed that she was taking an easy route, or slacking off, or didn’t deserve to graduate.

“I’m just taking an extra day to sort myself out.” She said firmly, as if to drown out these doubts.

As she stood from the armchair, she lifted her bag with relative ease. Gone was the frantic energy that had torn through Aziraphale’s quiet afternoon, replaced with a sense of acceptance. However long that hung around, Aziraphale did not know, as Maria thanked him and left the shop for the local library. That acceptance wasn’t his angelic doing. It perhaps wasn’t permanent either. But the angel couldn’t quite refrain from interfering just a touch, for the sake of the poor worn out girl.

* * *

And so maybe, when Maria arrived home, her dog greeted her with an enthusiasm the 14-year-old collie couldn’t usually muster.

And maybe, there were a few important textbooks appearing on the girl’s desk which had previously sat in an Oxford library.

And, just maybe, the lecturer had forgotten to turn up the next day so that Maria and her classmates were given a gratuitous 48 hour window to doctor their hasty essays.

The culmination of it all was this:

Maria let herself take a few deep breaths.


End file.
